


Flies

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 22:54:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21187340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Sam defends Bag End from dragons.





	Flies

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Lord of the Rings or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

They’re only rumours, of course, and most hobbits don’t believe them—everybody knows that dragons can’t actually be _real_. But hobbits say that about lots of things, like Elven lords and sometimes even dwarves, and Sam knows that those exist, so maybe dragons do too. Everyone used to stay in bed at night, go home early and bar the doors, because that’s what proper hobbits did. Now it’s done out of fear—just in case there really _is_ a dragon, and that’s when it’ll come to eat them. That’s the only time it’s ever spotted. As terrified as Sam is of being eaten alive or roasted up, that small, curious part of him just has to _see_ it.

That’s why he looks out his bedroom window every once in a while, and when a dark shadow passes over the hill one summer night, his skin starts prickling. With shaking fingers, he dares to unfasten the latch, and he sticks out just enough to peer up and _see it_—the enormous red figure flying right past the moon.

Sam’s breath catches. For that split second, his heart stops beating. He tries to take it all in, from the outstretched leathery wings to the serpentine tail, the glimmer of its scales and all the many spikes littering its body. Then it swoops lower, and Sam realizes it’s not _quite_ as big as he thought, quite as towering as he feared—it’s maybe just the size of a comfortably large living room. Still much too big for any animal, of course. It swirls around the lane, then tilts and begins a gradual descent. Sam’s stomach goes cold. 

It’s headed for Bag End, where Frodo’s holed up all alone, probably blissfully asleep and unaware that a beast right out of song is about to pound down his door and spread fire through his halls. A million terrible scenarios race through Sam’s mind, and in that instant, instinct compels him. He forgets his own terror, his own safety, and bolts right out of bed, still in his night clothes. He hurries through the halls, not even bothering to be quiet like usual in case it wakes his gaffer. He’s out the door in a heartbeat and racing up the hill, not even thinking of the obvious: that it might eat him instead.

He’s not going to make it. It’s almost reached the grassy roof. Darting down, Sam snatches up a stone off the dirt road, and he chucks it as hard as he can. It hits the dragon’s shoulder, and it lets out a horrible shriek that turns his blood to ice. Then it’s dropping straight towards the earth, and the next thing Sam knows, it’s disappeared behind the newly painted gate that Sam installed himself.

For that moment, Sam’s too petrified to move. Then he lurches forward like a man possessed. He runs faster than he ever has, bursts through the gate, and stumbles to a halt at what he finds. 

There is no carcass of a dragon, which he had to have known—he would’ve seen it over the hedge. Instead, Frodo’s sitting there, clutching at his arm, blinking up at Sam in evident surprise. 

Sam blinks back. He reels around, looking everywhere, but there’s no sign of the beast. He doesn’t understand. He asks Frodo, dazed and wondering if he could’ve possibly mistook a dream for reality, “Where is it?” 

“It?” Frodo repeats.

“The dragon!”

He feels like such a fool. It must be his mistake. Frodo rubs at his arm and glances aside, then sucks in a long breath and answers, “Sam, I... I did want to tell you.” Sam just stares. Normally, he’s all ears when Frodo wants to talk to him, but now’s hardly the time. Frodo slowly tells him, “I _am_ the dragon.”

Sam doesn’t feel like he’s asleep. But he must be. It’s hard to tell in the pale starlight, but it looks like Frodo’s blushing. He mumbles, “I just need to stretch my wings sometimes... I try to make sure no one sees it, but I should’ve known that wouldn’t work forever... Gandalf did try to warn me...”

Sam stops listening when he spots the crimson snake looped over Frodo’s legs. Except instead of a face, it has a pointed end covered in spikes. Frodo follows his gaze, and suddenly the snake’s withdrawing, then disappearing all together, and Sam realizes that he just saw a dragon’s tail. 

Sam finally puts two and two together, and then he forgets all his shock and horror, because something much worse has happened. He splutters, “Oh my goodness, I threw a rock at _you_? Mr. Frodo, I’m terribly sorry!”

Frodo opens his mouth, then laughs. It sounds relieved. Sam can feel the blush creeping up his cheeks, the shame sinking deep into him—he can’t believe he _hurt_ Frodo. He kneels down and gently brushes Frodo’s hand aside—Frodo lets go, and there’s no blood, but there is a tear in his nightshirt, and the skin beneath is bruised. A pit drops into Sam’s stomach. He _bruised_ Frodo.

Frodo murmurs, “It’s alright, Sam. I’m sorry I scared you.”

Sam just stares at the bruise, awash with guilt. The rest of what Frodo’s saying slowly sinks in—that somehow, all of Mr. Bilbo’s adventures must have led to _this_: a nephew that’s part dragon, or maybe that was Gandalf’s doing: it’s definitely something _magical_, the sort of thing that Sam would imagine hearing in a song, but never the songs they sing around the Shire. Frodo asks, “Why did you come out, though? Weren’t you scared?”

“Of course.” He swallows. His heart’s never pounded so fast—he really thought it was going to burst out of his chest for a minute. He mumbles, “But it was headed for Bag End, so I had to protect you.”

“_Sam_!” Frodo laughs again, his voice like music. He’s smiling wide, even though Sam knocked him right out of the sky. He shakes his head, and Sam does realize how ridiculous it sounds, but the only reason he regrets it is because he accidentally hurt the very person he was trying to save. Frodo grins at him for a long moment, then says, “I know it’s quite late, but... do you want to come in for tea?”

Sam instantly answers, “Yes. Begging your pardon, Mr. Frodo, but now I’m desperately confused.”

Frodo chuckles and promises, “I’ll tell you everything. It will be nice to have someone finally know.”

Sam feels immensely special to be that someone. He helps Frodo up and gets a quick glimpse of Frodo’s folded wings before they wander safely inside.


End file.
